


Becoming The Raptor Wrangler

by fallofatlas (torviironside)



Category: Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-06-25 19:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15647505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torviironside/pseuds/fallofatlas
Summary: Owen Grady’s story of redemption, of finding acceptance. Starting immediately from his departure from the Navy Owen Becoming The Raptor Wrangler follows Owen on his journey through dealing with his struggle to adapt to the civilian world, the questions of morality that surround Jurassic World, the development of his relationship with Claire (and that horrible First Date™), Blue, Echo, Charlie and Delta, Vic Hoskins and how he got to be the Owen Grady we’re introduced to in JW. { temp. summary }





	1. Chapter 1

 

         ❝ _Be strong, saith my heart;_

_I am a soldier;_

_I have seen worse sights than this._ ❞ — Homer


	2. Introduction

There’s something undeniably satisfying about hammering a nailinto wood, Owen thinks. It’s a stress reliever. It requires his absolute focus. A small slip of his attention and he’d miss the nail with the hammer head and slam it down on his finger instead. If he’s concentrating he’s not thinking about anything other than the simple action. He’s not thinking about the day that _everything_ changed. He’s not thinking about the three years after he spent with Claire Dearing as his passenger as they, homeless aside from the Airstream RV traveled cross country. Running away from their nightmares, from the consequences of their actions and seeking solstice and comfort in one another.

He can’t think about Claire. Not now. God knows he thought about her every other second of his life. Seeing her on the tv as commercials for DPG slap him in the face repeatedly doesn’t help …and though he’d never admit it he ends up watching her tv interviews. He tells himself he won’t. That he doesn’t care. Yet, each time he ends up hitting the record button on his DVR. Just in case, he assures himself. He sees her every day of his life in some form or another. He swears he can smell that damned vanilla scented lotion at times, taunting and haunting him where it lingers on his pillow. It reminds him of how much he misses her. God, he misses her …regardless of how crazy she drove him at times. 

“ _Why you gotta show up lookin’ so good just to hurt me —_?” Owen sings to himself, fishing for another nail on his tool belt. He positions it between his fingers, splaying his hand flat on the wood and brings the hammer down on it. Once the nail is secure in the wood Owen withdraws his hand. “ _Why you wanna stop this whole damn world from turnin’? Mercy. Why you hangin’ on so tight if this ain’t workin’? Why you wanna stop this flame if it’s still burnin’? ‘Cause it’s still burnin’._ ” Owen sings picking up in volume, drawing on an old and rarely used southern accent. During his time in Isla Nublar he’d started to lose it. Not entirely, but the heavy drawl had mellowed without hearing it day in and day out.

He hears the sound of car tires on the gravel. He doesn’t look over his shoulder. He doesn’t have to. He knows exactly who it is and he knows exactly what she wants …but she doesn’t know that and Owen, in typical Owen fashion, doesn’t intend on letting her in on that. He wants to hear her pitch for himself. He switches songs then, resuming singing as he hears her car door close. The last thing he wants her to figure out is that he still loves her.

Because of course he was still in love with her.

He’d been for a long time and as the previous song suggested: that fire just didn’t burn out.

“Hey, Owen.” Of course he hears her, but he pretends not to. She’s going to have to do better than that, he thinks as he hammers a third nail in.

“Owen!” He stops and slides his hammer into his tool belt.

“Oh, boy.” Owen turns as much as the ladder will allow to lookdown at her over his shoulder.

“Hi.” She’s nervous he notes. He can tell by the way she’s fidgeting, the way she’s rocking on her feet. Imagine that. Claire Elizabeth Dearing _nervous_.

“Back for more, huh?” He asks with a lopsided grin tugging at his lips. He can’t help himself. He’s glad to see her, even if he doesn’t want her to know it.

“Can I buy you a beer?” 

Damn, she looks good, he thinks. She’s grown her hair out since the Isla Nublar incident and it’s tugged back in a ponytail now. The white blouse and dark blue leather jacket look exceptionally good on her. Although, Owen can’t really recall a time that Claire didn’t take his breath away. 

“Did you bring them or are gonna, like, go somewhere?” He pulls the hammer from his belt and plants his free hand on his hip, grinning down at her. He’d hoped her reply would be the first but as he doubted that.

 

* * *

 

An hour later and a conversation over beer turned to an argument over who left who. Owen was cruel and sarcastic to her but Claire took it like an exasperated champ. He couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t proud of his behavior but being self deprecating was a familiar diversion tactic for him. It wasn’t like Owen didn’t know that Claire had a hell of lot better options than him. The phone call with Eli Mills, Benjamin Lockwood’s little lackey’d left a particularly sour taste in Owen’s mouth with the familiarity in which he’d spoken of Claire. It was probably a good thing he’d called instead of deciding to pay Owen a visit. Jealousy isn’t something Owen’s particularly accustomed to feeling but it made him want to punch Eli Mills in the face. Coupled with the touchy subject of Blue … left Owen feeling volatile.

Owen’s so far in his mood that he even tells Claire he was going to let Blue die. Dr. Malcom had a fair number of points on the re-extinction of the Isla Nublar dinosaurs.

Their little ‘date’ ends much like their very first one had: with Claire storming out, angry at him. 

It all came full circle in that moment for Owen as he sinks back against the booth seat, fingers idly twisting and untwisting around the neck of the beer bottle as he watches Claire leave the bar with a heavy decision weighing on his mind as he thinks back to how it started. Not just Claire and him but _all_ of it.


	3. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There may be potential triggers littered throughout this chapter. Please read this at your own discretion. Keep in mind, in my headcanon Owen suffers heavily from PTSD and anxiety and it’ll be a key focus of his character for me until he finds a way to cope with it (apropos to “his girls” { aka. the raptor squad } Blue, Charlie, Delta and Echo).

There’s an unrelenting pounding of someone’s fist on the metal of his Airstream’s door. Owen, who was in an uneasy sleep — it’s always uneasy — sets up with a rough gasp, his heart pounding loudly in his ears as the blood rushes from his head.

“Alright. ALRIGHT!” He snarls as he throws his legs over the edge of the bed and stands, planting his hand to the wall for a second before he pushes off of it and goes to the door, unlocking it and pushing it open. The knocking, blissfully, ceases but there’s a fire in his father’s eyes as Owen opens the door and steps aside as Logan Grady invites himself in that makes Owen immediately regret opening the door.

“Come in.” Owen invites as his father turns sharply on his heel and turns to face Owen who lets out a breath and closes the door. His father’s gaze burns through him and Owen can’t help but feel that it was intimidating enough to cause the devil himself to think twice.

“Owen, this has to stop.” His father’s arm shoots out to stop him as Owen makes to brush past him, reaching for the small, orange prescription bottles laying on the RV’s counter.

“What the hell?” Owen demands gruffly, growing more grumpy by the moment as his mood swings. He needs the anti-depressants and anxiety medication to function something close to a normal human being and his father knows it. It isn’t a magical cure all — the flashbacks and the anxiety attacks still happen — but it helps.

“I can’t sit by and just watch this any longer.”

“Watch what?” Owen snaps. He’s taller than his father and his father wasn’t truly the road-block that he thought he was. If Owen really wanted to …he could get past him. But Owen didn’t really want to. There was too much of a risk that he’d seriously hurt his dad in the process and despite his raising annoyance he didn’t want to hurt his old man.

“Watch you waste away in this trailer. Look Owen, it’s been six months since you …retired from the SEALS and in that time you’ve done nothing to help yourself. You just keep taking the medication they prescribe for you. You haven’t put much, if any effort, towards finding a new purpose. You need somethin’, boy. Somethin’ other than these damn medicines and this trailer. You need to find your path. You’ve lost your way.” Owen’s lips mash into a hard, terse line and he rolls his eyes, shifting his position so he leans his hips against the counter.

His father wasn’t wrong. 

Still, that goddamn Grady stubbornness rises like a white hot heat in Owen as he feels the urge to defend himself.

“Nobody’s hiring vets, Dad. I’m a liability to them. If I have a PTSD episode while at work …that’s on them. They can’t _take that risk_.” Owen’s tone is colorfully snide to accent the sharp air quotes he did. He’d only heard that line over a thousand times.

Can you get through a day without the jackhammer triggering a flashback?

_No_.

Sorry son, I just…I can’t take that risk.

Yeah, I’d gladly hire you as security. Your martial arts repertoire is impressive, man…but there’s a lot of flashing lights and heavy bass. I see that you suffer from PTSD. Can you confidently tell me that it won’t trigger an episode?

_Not as confidently as you’d like me to_.

I’m real sorry, man. I can’t take the risk. Better luck next time.

Owen understands …to some degree. He gets it but he can only take being kicked to the curb like a prized fighting dog that’s lost it’s value for so long before it takes it’s toll on him. He’s struggling …and it’s only because of sheer stubbornness that he hasn’t taken to alcohol as a suppressant. 

“I mean, honestly, Pops. What skills do I have to offer the world? It’s not like there’s exactly a high demand for a black-ops trained killer. And, ok, I could make a few bucks training animals …but people’re too afraid that I’ll train their animals to be weapons.”

Owen watches his father contemplate his words and a long silence stretches between them followed closely by a rise and fall of Logan Grady’s shoulders. 

“Listen, Owen. I need an extra pair of hands at the Ranch. I can’t haul an axe like I used to and Rick brought me a particularly rebellious stallion that needs a good trainer. I’ll pay you the same wage I pay everyone else —”

“Pops …,” Owen shakes his head in refusal. “I’m not —”

“Now, don’t argue with me boy …”

“— I’m not takin’ your money.” Owen insists firmly with a bit more passive aggression than he meant to. Realizing he’s stepped boot to boot with his father, staring down at him in the same manner he’d stared down at the men in his platoon when they’d disobeyed him Owen swallows thickly and reels back, reigning himself in. “I’ll work on the Ranch,” Owen agrees, hand gripping the the wood top of the dinette’s bench. He tries to make it look casual but his grip is hard and he feels the wood slowly giving way beneath his fingers that have gone numb from the death grip he exerts. “but I won’t accept your money.” 

“Molly Warbeck keeps asking if you’ll be coming back to church anytime soon.” 

Molly Warbeck was Owen’s ex from high school. One of those down-home, homegrown, found on good ground girls. Owen joined the Navy the summer of his Junior year in school and their relationship ended a few days after their senior graduation. Owen broke it off with her because it hadn’t seemed fair to him for her to keep holding onto him when he had ambitions to join the SEALS. Holding onto a man who’d became a ghost, never knowing when and where he was going or if he’d make it back. 

People in your life were messy. 

And now …well, now, the Owen he’d been in high school didn’t exist anymore and it wasn’t fair to either of them to try to ‘pick up where they’d left off’. Maybe for her it was easy, maybe she hadn’t changed at all …but Owen couldn’t be that kid anymore.

“It doesn’t seem right to go to Church when I don’t believe in God.” Owen squints out the window, arms crossed over his chest. He approaches the subject gruffly and close-minded. His decision’s been made on both fronts: God and Molly Warbeck. Surprisingly, his father doesn’t push, for all of Logan Grady’s faults, he tries not to push religion on Owen, and tries to respect his point of view. Molly’s a bit of a different story but Owen’s well adapted to holding his ground. 

“That wasn’t exactly what I was gettin’ at…” Logan scratches as his salt and pepper beard.

“— I know what you were getting at.” Owen interrupts, brushing past his father. “Give me a few minutes to get dressed and clean up and I’ll hitch a ride with you up to the ranch.” Logan grunts and heads towards the door, pushing it open and pushing it closed behind him. Owen’s fingers reach for the prescription bottle but he stops just short of tugging it into his grasp.

The anti-depressants and anxiety medications make Owen’s life more tolerable …and he doesn’t remember the last time he tried to make it through a day without them. The goal’d always been to wean himself off of them once he found solid ground beneath his feet again. 

Why not start today?

Currently, the ground felt pretty damn solid …but that was a rocky slope. He’d just started up the mountain that seems so damn and impossibly high. One step at a time.

He retracts his hand and goes into the ‘bedroom’ to change into jeans and an old flannel shirt and contemplates shaving off his beard that he’d let grow. He runs his hands over it for a moment, considering his options before he remembers that his father’s outside waiting for him. He exits the RV and hops up into the bed of his father’s rumbling, old Chevy truck, rapping his knuckles against the roof of the cab, snickering at his father when Logan pokes his head out of the window he cranked down.

“Get in the cab of the truck, boy. Like a normal person.”

“Nah, I’m good.” He laughs as his father’s head disappears into the cab and he puts the truck in drive and they rumble down the rough path to the ranch. It was reminiscent of Owen’s time as a kid. He’d always preferred to ride in the bed of the truck as opposed to being wedged in the cab between his parents, or having to share that tiny middle seat with his younger brother ( which couldn’t have been even remotely safe now that he thinks about it ). Besides that, it feels claustrophobic to him.

He ducks and sinks down into the bed to avoid being beheaded by low hanging branches, and props one knee up, resting his hand on his knee, back pressed against the back of the cab as he watches his RV at the very back of their land disappear into the thick trees, his Triumph the last thing he sees glinting in the early morning sun.

The window at the back of the cab unlatches and his dad slides it open. He’s got the news playing on the radio and Owen swallows the lump that forms in his throat as the woman radio personality talks about an armed robbery, a workplace shooting and a kidnapping. The last was the story of how a young girl was raped by her step-dad repeatedly and Owen’s stomach roils with nausea and for a moment his muscles tense as he prepares to hoist himself over the side of the truck to throw up.

“Turn it off.” Owen rasps into the window. “For the love of fuck…turn it off.” He doesn’t want to hear the shit the world’d turned into. This wasn’t what he’d fought for. This wasn’t the America he’d sacrificed damn near everything for.

A few seconds past.

“Are you alright, Owen?” The truck lurches and Owen grabs the side of the truck bed and empties his mostly empty stomach over it.

“Fine.” Owen gasps as he finishes, scrunching up his face at the sour taste that lingers in his mouth. “There’s a reason I don’t own a TV.” He tells his father gruffly.

There’s a long pause and Owen wipes the light sheen of sweat off of his forehead with the grease stained cloth tucked into the back pocket of his jeans. The cool fall air feels good against his heated skin. The news only pisses him off, makes him sick. Makes him feel like everything he and every other service member did was for nothing. 

He thought he’d been some damn unsung hero. He thought he’d known who the enemies of mankind were …but the truth was that they lingered everywhere. Monsters hiding in human skin everywhere.

He thought about joining the local police or state trooper force. It seemed like a natural transition: uphold the law, protect the innocent. It’d been his plan, originally. His therapist recommended against it claiming it to be ‘least suitable career choice for him due to his emotional issues from his tours of deployment’. 

Emotional issues. That was a nice way of putting it. Candy coated, legal jargon bullshit.

“Have you eaten anything?”

“You woke me up.” Owen replied, fidgeting with a loose string on his jeans as he props his knee back up. He doesn’t say it accusatory. Just tiredly. His father makes a small rumble of disapproval.

“I’ll make you some breakfast. A man needs to eat.” 

They drive for a few more minutes, a silence settling between them only for Owen to let out a grunt and grab onto the side of the bed to keep himself from slamming back into the back of the cab as his father slams on the breaks. The tires squeal in protest and the truck engine rumbles it’s own displeasure.

“What the hell?” Owen asks, pushing himself to his feet in the bed to loom over the roof of the cab. Three black cars are parked along the lane. A man looking out of place in jeans and a casual shirt stands leaning against the Mercedes and two men in black uniform flank him, their hands resting on their sidearms. Hardly inconspicuous.

“I thought I told ya to get off my land.” Owen’s father yells as he goes to get out of the truck.

“Stay in the truck, Dad.” Owen warns his father as he hops over the side of the bed, moving around the truck to meet the man who moves forward. Owen watches his lackeys as they mirror his movements.

“Lieutenant Commander Grady.” The man holds a meaty hand out for Owen to shake but Owen doesn’t reciprocate.

“Former Lieutenant Commander.” Owen corrects gruffly. “I’m retired, in case you haven’t heard.”

“Dogs of war like us never retire, Lieutenant Commander.” The man replies with a quirk of his lips into a smile. Owen doesn’t trust him. “I’m Vic Hoskins. Head of Security at InGen on Isla Nublar.”

“I know who you are.” Owen replies curtly.

“You’re a hard man to get ahold of, Mr. Grady.” Vic Hoskins seems adamant on dancing around what Owen really wants to know. Owen recognizes the power-play happening. Hoskins wants to be in control of their conversation and that annoys Owen greatly.

“It’s intentional.” He didn’t want the government or military sniffing him out, he didn’t want to join any support groups. He just wanted to be left alone.

“Want to tell me why you’re harassin’ my Old Man, Mr. Hoskins?”Owen demands in lieu of asking.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with Jurassic World?” Hoskins inquires with a grin that would put a cat to shame. Except he thinks Owen’s his canary. Big mistake, but for the moment allowing Hoskins to think he’s in charge here works to Owen’s advantage and thus he allows it.

“It’s hard not to be. Advertisements everywhere you look.” Owen doesn’t agree with it. With the de-extinction of the dinosaurs, with exploiting them for money and entertainment. It rubbed him the wrong way on multiple levels …but he knows he has no room to talk. Hadn’t he done the same thing with his animals during his time with the SEALS? Train them to be weapons of war? He’d exploited them for the military, and they’d been used and disposed of in lieu of soldier’s lives. 

And it haunted Owen every day of his life.

“You ever been?”

“Nah. Zoos aren’t my thing.” Owen replies cracking a lopsided grin that hides knives beneath it. It’s all a complex mess of feelings for him. He understands with the ‘saving endangered animals from extinction’ prospect of it …but then again wasn’t that what animal sanctuaries were for?

“I have to be honest, Mr. Grady …I’m looking for someone of your particular skill set to join InGen’s team.”

“And what skill set would that be?”

“We’re working on a new project called IBRIS. We’d like for you to research the cognitive abilities and behavior of the Raptors. See if they can bond with the humans, if they can be trained to follow commands. Your file appeared on my desk with a high and shining recommendation.”

The ‘no’ lingers on the very tip of Owen’s tongue. He’s not going to train war machines. Instead of ‘no’, he laughs. He laughs because it sounds so ridiculous. A dinosaur trainer? Training dinosaurs wasn’t like training dogs and horses.

“You want me to train _velociraptors_?” Owen asks, just to be sure he’s heard Hoskins correctly.

“This isn’t a laughing matter, soldier. It’s a serious offer. It’s a good offer. Misrani is willing to triple your wage you made before you retired.”

_Holy shit_.

“Full employee benefits. Retirement plans. Everything top of the line. Right at your fingertips.”

It sounds grand but Owen’s not out for money. He gets a nice fat pension from the military as it is. He chooses to live in the old Airstream on his family’s land. It’s quiet. It’s comfortable and he’s never been a man of pomp.

There’s a big question of morality in play. As Owen stares Hoskins down, the other man does the same to him. He doesn’t want to train the velociraptors for monetization and exploitation. Besides that, unleashing velociraptors on a battlefield? Sounds like a massacre waiting to happen. Could he let that happen? Owen gets the feeling that this Project IBRIS was going to happen with or without him spearheading it. If he didn’t accept the job then someone who had no moral compass would come in, in his place. At least if he accepts Owen has a chance to ensure that he’s a valuable piece on the chess board. He can ensure that InGen couldn’t dispose of him when he got in their way because he _would_ get in their way. There was no way that he was going to let them unleash raptors in active war zones. For the sake of both the people and the animals themselves.

“I need some time to think about it.” Owen finally responds. He already knows his answer but he wants InGen to sweat it out for a bit. They want him bad, he can tell by the twitch in Vic Hoskins eye as Owen intentionally displays deliberation.

“You have twenty four hours. There’s a jet waiting at the local airport. It departs at seven hundred hours tomorrow morning. Your name’s on the manifest.” Hoskins tells him before turning sharply on his heel and walking back to the car, his lackeys following after a few prolonged seconds as Owen plants his hands on his hips.

InGen wants him bad enough to assume that he’ll say ‘yes’.

“What’d they want?” Owen looks over his shoulder as the rumbling engine of his father’s truck draws closer, the crunch of gravel under tire slowing as his father pulls the truck to a stop beside Owen.

“To offer me a job.” Owen replies, going around the front of the truck and hopping in the passenger side of the cab.


	4. Chapter Two

“They want you to train  _what_?” His dad asks, spittle and bits of egg flying out of his mouth. Owen grimaces and recoils back in his chair, spearing a slice of egg white, toast and potatoes with his own fork and putting it in his mouth. He makes an effort not to shovel the food into his mouth. The military taught him to eat quickly: time was always of the essence and you never knew when your meal might be your last meal for an extended period of time. Especially on missions.

“Velociraptors.” Owen affirms, perhaps unnecessarily. No doubt his father’d heard him the first time but nevertheless appears to be waiting on a confirmation all the same.

“Are you…” His dad pauses, taking a sip of his coffee. “Are you going to take the job?” There’s an understandable hesitation in his father’s tone. Logan Grady’s always been a man that spoke his mind: a little bit of Southern charm mixed with that ‘not afraid to fight, not afraid to bleed, always be honest’ value and to hear him hold back was unusual.

Owen’s quiet for a moment as he swallows a mouthful of breakfast. They both know his answer. Owen can see it in his father’s eyes, in the concern that crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah.” Owen confirms, lifting his own cup of coffee to his lips. The rich liquid is hot, scalding on his tongue, a little bit of half and half cream to soothe the strong coffee’s bitter taste. “I don’t agree with what Misrani and his company are doin’ at Jurassic World and I don’t agree with what InGen wants but,” Owen feels the need to explain himself despite the fact that there’s no accusation or demand for it in his father’s facial expression. Perhaps that’s why he feels the sudden bubble of pressure on his chest. “If I take the job I’ve got the best chance to put a wrench in it, y’know? Subtle sabotage from the inside.” Which was, as black-ops, what Owen was good at.

“You’re gonna live on the island?”

“I’ll live on site like all the staff, yeah.” Owen answers, feeling his brows furrow as he tries to puzzle out what’s going on inside his father’s head. It was useless, of course. When he was trying to hide how he was feeling Logan began an unintelligible book. It’s a look Owen recognizes though. He’s seen it only a few times in his life: the day he left for the Navy and then when it was time to part after his graduation from basic training, the day his younger brother left for New York City to go to the college and, presumably, hasn’t been back since, and the day of Laura Grady’s funeral. Owen looks to the left then, at the picture his father’s hard gaze was settled firmly upon. It was a 16x20 size photo hanging on the wall. The last photo they’d taken as a family the day of his graduation from basic training. He was wearing his Navy blue’s, in full uniform. On Owen’s left was Jesse, and to his right was his dad with his mother wedged between them. They were all smiles then, in that moment.

Joyful to see one another again after three months of limited contact of timed phone calls and letters. Pride in Owen’s accomplishments. Two weeks before the family’d gotten the news that would ultimately tear them apart at the seams. Jesse stays away because he can’t deal with their mother’s absence — and he and Logan never saw eye to eye — and Owen’d been away without word for extended periods of time on missions. Top secret missions that left his ailing mother and coping father with the knowledge that if anything happened to him they’d never know. It must’ve been agonizing for them, Owen realized, one son choosing to stay away because he was afraid and not knowing what was going on with the other son until he called them to check in.

And now he was leaving again.

“It won’t be like when I was with the SEALS, Pops.” Owen breaks the thick and heavy silence that settles between them, giving a soft clear of his throat. “The Project is confidential but I don’t have to stop all contact with you.” Owen assures him, meeting the Grady patriarch’s eyes as they move back to him.

“Just…ah,” His father gives a small cough to hide the catch of his breath. “Just try not to get eaten.” It’s not something Owen can guarantee. Working with velociraptors? It wasn’t safe. Not any more safe than going on top secret, black-ops missions. Owen had an assumption of what training them was going to be like …but the truth was it’d be a lot of touch and go, trying to find what worked and what didn’t. He didn’t even know if training them was even possible. He assumes that no one tried it before him, that he was to be the brave pioneer.

“I’ll be alright.” Owen assures his father with a lopsided ‘don’t worry’ grin and a bravado that he doesn’t necessarily feel. “Listen, sorry to bail on the ranch like this.” Owen pushes his chair away from the table after he sets his fork down on the empty plate. Despite his best efforts not to rush eating he’d ended up doing it unintentionally anyway. “I need to get back to the RV to pack. I’m makin’ InGen sweat it out for twenty four hours but I’ll be waitin’ on the jet for them tomorrow morning.” Owen stands then, watching as his father mirrors him.

“I’d offer to drive ya but I got work to do.” His father clears his throat and moves around the table, alarming Owen when he grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him in for a tight hug. Owen lets out a noise of surprise but claps his father on the back nevertheless. “You be careful on that island, boy. You watch your back around those corporate leeches and you remember everything those SEALS taught you. You hear me, boy?”

“Loud and clear, sir.” Owen fights the choke of emotions he feels as a smooth and immovable lump in his throat.

“Who knows,” Logan says as he pulls back, hands still gripping Owen’s shoulders tight. “You might find a lady that catches yer eye, since you won’t get with Molly.”

“Dad.” Owen rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Let it go, old man. I’m there to train raptors. Not to  _fall in love_.” Owen snorts at the idea, as if it’s preposterous. To him, it is. Nothing screams ‘romance’ more than an island full of de-extinct dinosaurs, he thinks sarcastically.

“You never know. God works in mysterious ways.” Owen rolls his eyes again, wondering how many times he can roll his eyes before they roll out of his head. For a moment, he feels like petulant teenager again.

“Alright. Alright,” Owen steps away. “I gotta go pack.” He rolls his shoulders, still feeling the ghost imprint of his father’s hands there and offers his father a parting smile as he turns sharply on his heel and heads for the front door, pushing the screen door open and stepping out onto the porch.

For a moment as he jogs down the steps Owen wonders what the hell he just resolved himself to.

* * *

The wait was long but to Owen’s surprise they left them on the jet without fuss. His duffel bag is heavy with clothes and little else. Though he hopes he doesn’t regret it he ultimately left his anti-depression and anxiety medicine behind. Isla Nublar was going to be a fresh start. A clean slate. He leans the reclining seat back, shifting his weight in the plush seat, leans his head back, propping his arm behind his head and falls asleep.

It’s where he stays until he hears the jet engines start up and it startles him out of sleep. He sits up, stretching his legs and arms, giving Vic Hoskins who’s in the middle of a phone call mouth agape with evident surprise to see him there, a cocky grin.

“Mr. Grady’s on board, sir.” He hums an affirmation and hangs up the phone, planting his hand on the seat across from Owen’s and sinks down. Owen buckles up and runs a hand over the facial hair adorning his jaw, scratching at it for a second, pressing a fist against his mouth to stifle the yawn that escapes him. “I thought you weren’t going to show up.”

“Don’t call me Mr. Grady. It’s Owen.” Was all Owen says in response, watching with satisfaction as a muscle in Hoskin’s jaw jumps.

“As far as not showing up,” Owen says broaching upon the subject with a contemplative drawl. “I thought about turnin’ you down.”

“What changed your mind?” Hoskins asked, leaning back in the seat, his grip tightening on the arm rest as the jet takes off the runway.

“My father.” Owen wasn’t going to tell Hoskins the main driving force between his acceptance, of course; but he didn’t exactly tell a lie, either. His decision, in part, was made because of his father. The conversation they had early yesterday morning comes to the forefront of Owen’s mind, alongside the worry and pain in his father’s eyes. The apology. Of seeing what was wrong but not knowing how to fix it; and his old man’d been right.

Owen was lost. He needed a purpose and Project IBRIS falling into his lap felt like a pretty damn good purpose to him even if it did strike him as a bit suicidal. Training velociraptors? It felt like it was going to be goddamn impossible. 


	5. Chapter Three

The flight was a short one: an accumulation of three hours and some odd minutes in the private jet and a half an hour in the ferry to Isla Nublar. Owen stretches when they disembark from the ferry, grabbing his duffel bag and slinging it over his shoulder as he snickers at Hoskins who has a hand planted against one of the dock’s pillars, throwing up. It was just ironic that a big, tough guy with an intimidation complex is afraid of flying and being on the sea. It’s almost too good for Owen. Maybe if Hoskins hadn’t stricken him as being such an ass Owen might’ve had more sympathy. A lot of people were afraid of flying and being on a boat. They were common fears and it wasn’t nice to find it funny but Owen could tell from the moment he met Hoskins that they wouldn’t see eye to eye and would butt heads more than they would anything else. Hoskins looks like the type of man that thinks he’s going to boss Owen around and Owen is the kind of man who’d pop him in the jaw with a mean right hook.

“You alright there, Hoskins?” Owen asks with overly fake concern.

“Get out —” Hoskins gasps between heaves. “— of here.” Owen does laugh then and shakes his head as he pivots around on his foot to face the departing ferry one last time. The Jurassic World is screen printed on it’s stern, the infamous t-rex skull with ‘Jurassic World’ printed under it in the familiar silver and blue. It’s familiar. Too familiar. It isn’t as if commercials and billboards and family vacation ads don’t slap him in the face. It’s the biggest attraction on planet earth bringing in five times the revenue of Disney World …which probably made Simon Misrani the wealthiest man on planet earth.

There is a uniform sound approaching him; the sharp staccato ‘click-clack’ of high heels on the wood of the dock. He turns to face the sound, readjusting the weight of his duffel bag, brows raising in evident surprise because that was brave. The dock’s gaps were wide enough to allow the wood to move and settle without damaging it and they were definitely wide enough for heels to slide down into. Fall it them just right they’d sprain or break an ankle.

Her shoes, pristine and white — and absolutely ridiculous in his opinion — draw his attention first because it’s what he was focused on as she approached.

“Mr. Grady?” His eyes trail up the little bit of exposed leg from her long, pencil skirt ( also white ). Her suit was all white — which also struck him as ridiculous. It was a theme park where the chances of stepping in dinosaur shit had to be fairly high; she was brave, he deduces. But uniform and straight-laced. He could appreciate it; though that was largely the military in him.

As his eyes go to her face: the first thing he notices is her eyes. They’re a startling green against her fair skin and short red hair kept in an uniformed bob.

Green like the piece of sea glass he’d kept and found on Sea Glass Beach when the ship he’d served on before applying for the SEALS docked in Bermuda.

Damn, she had beautiful eyes.

“Owen.” He corrects her, without even thinking about it because ‘Mr. Grady’ was his father’s title.

She was beautiful in general, he realizes, even when she’s looking at him with sharp eyes and a terse smile.

“Mr. Grady,” She insists and switches the hand that her brick of a tablet was holding to her right hand and holds her left out for him to shake. “I’m Claire Dearing, Operations Manager here at Jurassic World.”

He takes her hand and gives it a shake. It’s small compared to his: his hand, rough with callouses and scars nearly engulfs her own but her grip is firm.

Owen’s father used to tell him that a man’s handshake said a lot about his character.

Claire’s grip on his hand was firm. A single shake was given before she withdraws her hand from his, her finger-tips drifting over his as she recoils her hand and it goes back to her tablet that she holds in front of her. Yet, she never breaks her eye contact with him.

She was a ‘take-no-shit’ kind of woman. Clearly, the one in charge out here.

Owen was a hundred percent here for that.

“Please follow me.” She turns and begins to walk away and Owen almost mentions that she should be careful walking on the dock with those heels on but she maneuvers it like a boss and he closes his mouth before he accidentally insults her.

She’s talking when he catches up to her, falling in step with her easily. “Mr. Misrani is very excited to begin the IBRIS Project, Mr. Grady. He likes to get to know his employees but for unfortunately, his meetings today have ran longer than he originally anticipated and will not be joining us today. I’ll contact you to schedule an appointment.”

“An appointment?” He can’t keep the incredulous snort out of his voice. “What is this? A doctor’s office visit?” He sneers and offers her a lopsided grin as she glares him out the corner of her eye.

Claire’s mouth works as they makes their way towards her fancy Lexus, also white, and Owen’s unsure whether she’s fighting a smile or fighting the words she really wants to say but can’t.

“Mr. Misrani is a very important and very busy man, Mr. Grady.” She composes herself and replies bitingly.

“Yeah, but it’s an Island. Where am I gonna go?”

“Nevertheless,” Claire grinds out and Owen takes a small bit of pleasure from knowing he’s gotten under her skin. She’s so carefully composed but looking in her eyes …Owen sees a different person than the one she portrays currently. Reading people is one of the skills the SEALS ingrained on him and just like he doesn’t like Hoskins even upon first contact …Owen likes Claire. Yeah, she’s undeniably beautiful and Owen can appreciate that but there’s more to her. More than what she puts off. And that’s what draws him in. “I should remind you that you’re about to become very busy as well. We’re not sure when your velociraptor eggs will hatch but we can estimate fairly close. There’s some increased activity in the first batch and Dr. Wu thinks that they’ll hatch sometime late this week.” Claire explains as she pops the trunk of her SUV for him. He lays his duffel bag inside the pristine trunk and moves around to the passenger side, climbing into the seat as Claire gets in the driver’s side and starts the car up.

“Given that Mr. Misrani is currently unavaliable I’ve been tasked with showing you to your hotel room and giving you the grand tour.”

“Tasked, wow.” Owen can’t explain why he has a desire to push all her buttons. It’s probably extremely disrespectful …and it wasn’t that he didn’t respect that she’s in a position of high authority. He has no issue with that. His Commanding Officer in basic training had been a woman and she’d ran circles around the other commanding officers. “You make it sound like it’s a chore.” And she did.

Then again, Owen’s had a way of being austere and candid and together those didn’t always go hand in hand. A trait he gleamed from his father, no doubt.

Claire takes a sharp breath, holds it and lets it out, glimpsing at him from the corner of her eye.

“Listen Mr. Grady —,” Claire begins.

“— Ow-en.” He corrects her, sounding his name out for her to emphasis that he’d rather she call him ‘Owen’ than ‘Mr. Grady’ any day.

“— I apologize if I’ve made it seem like I’m less than enthusiastic to give you the tour.”

“Are you?” Claire doesn’t answer and Owen presses, shifting in his seat. “less than enthusiastic that you got tasked with escorting me around I mean?”

“Of course not.” She sounds offended, but she doesn’t snap at him like he expects her to. Like the tighten of her fingers around the steering wheel tells him she wants to.

She was in control.

He admires her ability to remain composed. It’s something they don’t have in common, admittedly.

“It’s my job, Mr. Grady —” Owen rolls his eyes and grates his teeth together. God, he really hates being called that. “to welcome VIP’s to our park. Business tycoons. Crown Princes. Investors.”

“You always make exceptions for your dinosaur trainers?”

“Not usually, no.” Claire replies. “But your research and the training of the velociraptors will be abundantly useful to what we do here. We brought the raptors over from Isla Sorna shortly before we opened the park to the public but they were too old to be trained and —” Claire stops herself as if she started talking about something she wasn’t supposed to.

Unusual, Owen thinks. She doesn’t strike him as the kind of person to just let company secrets slip out.

“ACU had to put them down.” She finishes. “They were deemed as too unsafe for our trainers, handlers and our guests.”

“Well,” Owen drawls. “They must’ve been pretty damn feral considerin’ there’s nothin’ safe about your park here, Miss Dearing.” Owen says, turning his head to the road she speeds down, watching as the jungle moves by them in a dark green blur.

“Excuse me?” Claire asks incredulously. “I assure you, Mr. Grady that we have went to every measure to ensure the absolute safety of our staff and guests. I’ve personally overseen the construction of the raptor’s cage and paddock where you’ll conduct your work with your assets. We have top security, highly trained and skilled park rangers and ACU soldiers on call and there are 24hr monitoring of every square inch of this park.” She bristles in the driver’s seat and Owen, despite himself, turns his head to study her.

He’d hit a nerve. A hot one, at that.

“I’ll be the judge of that. Before I take those  _animals_ ,” He enunciates the word to her, intensely disliking her use of the word ‘asset’ as if the dinosaurs were just numbers on a spreadsheet to her. “to their residence once they’re ready to leave the …the —,”

“Incubation center.” She offers, surprisingly without any mocking in her voice.

“I’m going to be assessing their cage and paddock.”

Owen expects her to argue. What he doesn’t expect is the: “Fine.” Claire expels in a breath as they head towards the main street gate. They pass beneath the monorail and stop before the towering wall they’d built. The heavy metal door slides open and Claire drives through when it opens enough to allow her SUV safe passage. She parks her car alongside the park ranger’s jeeps and gets out. Owen follows suit, taking his duffel bag out of her trunk and slinging it effortlessly over his shoulder as he follows her onto Main Street which is jammed full of visitors packed like a can of sardines.

Owen’s skin crawls at the thought of being around so many people….with so many people to his back. It causes a rise of anxiety, a roaring in his ears, a tightening of his throat and an impulse to reach out and grab something to ground himself. A light pole is the closest thing — aside from Claire — and his hand finds the metal, warm from the central america sun and subtly he gives the resistant metal a squeeze to ground himself before he smoothly falls in step with Claire as if he hadn’t just suffered an anxiety attack.

He was used to masking them, for the sake of not worrying his father who already worried too much …and that attack felt so  _raw_ after being cushioned by prescriptions for so many months.

“This is Main Street,” Claire introduces with a grand wave of her hand and a smile. It was the first time she looked genuine and it caused Owen’s breath to catch in his throat. He liked the way it made her eyes light up, liked how she looked like she belonged here. “Ahead of us is the hotel,” a massive, towering building that was impossible to miss. “We have thirty seven shops, twelve sit-down restaurants and eight cafes. Over there is the Samsung Innovation Center, IMAX Theatere and the Gentle Giants Petting Zoo.” She gestures to the petting zoo where children were screaming, laughing and crying as they rode, pet and played with the baby herbivores.

He followed her into the hotel lobby and grabbed the card key she produced from a pocket in her suit jacket. Their fingers unintentionally brushed as he took it from her.

“Floor seventeen. Room three.” She presses the call button for the elevator.

“I think I can find my hotel room just fine.” He tells her as the elevator doors slide open. He deftly slips inside and presses the floor number. “I’ll just drop this off and be down in a few.”

He had a sudden urge to change his shirt.

He grins at her as the doors slide closed and catches a whiff of her vanilla scented lotion. His own reflection stares back at him as the elevator starts it’s ascension.


	6. Chapter Four

“Holy shit.” The explicit word tumbles carelessly from Owen’s lips as he swipes his hotel keycard, the door unlocks and he pushes it open. The room’s luxurious and huge. Not one room but three joined rooms not including the monstrosity of a bathroom. He takes a moment to poke around, fingers skimming over the real Italian marble bathroom countertop. The mirror has a small wifi signal glowing blue in the left hand corner and an idle power button and his eyebrow rises.

Owen immediately feels highly uncomfortable knowing that this is where Mr. Misrani’d put him up: a fancy ass hotel room that was evidently made for a serious VIP. A room, mind, that Owen likely couldn’t even afford for an  _hour_. And they were giving it to him during his stay on Isla Nublar: which was indefinitely …or for as long as the park still drew revenue and stayed open, at any rate.

He tosses his duffel bag on the bed, yanked the zipper open and pawed through it until he found a cream colored henley shirt. He pulled his sweaty shirt over his head, balling it in his hands, glimpsing around for a hamper to toss it into, before remembering the walk-in closet. He disappears into it, dropping the balled up shirt into the lined basket before stepping out.

“Jesus  _christ_.” He snarls, hand shooting out to grasp the closet’s doorframe to steady himself as his heart pounds all the way up into his throat. Still trying to come down from the anxiety attack he’d gotten on the Main Street of being around so many goddamn people put him on edge. An already too-familiar red head standing by his bed in his hotel room with no warning damn near sent the war veteran into a second episode. “Don’t you knock?”

She turns around, startled — and that in particular was rather comical to Owen — as if she didn’t expect him to be there. Her eyes widen and she tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, sheepishly, knowing she’s been caught. Her cheeks flush a bright red to rival her hair as her eyes linger, perhaps a bit longer than she’d have liked, on his bare chest.

“I —,” Claire takes a deep breath, squaring her dainty shoulders as she strolls nearer. “I did knock. You didn’t answer so I thought…” but she trailed off with no obvious intention of fully explaining herself.

“You’d just let yourself into my hotel room?” He finishes for her, giving a mocking nod. “Y’know if you wanted to be alone with me in my room all you had to do was ask.” He teases her with a cocky, lopsided grin, brushing past her. She makes a cute indignant noise in the back of her throat from behind him that causes a chuckle to rise in Owen’s own. It was inappropriate and he’d likely just broken five different fraternization rules right then and there but god, he can’t help himself. There was something about Claire Dearing that makes him want to banter with her.

Perhaps it was the fact that he suspects she can not only handle it but return what he gives her tenfold.

“I wasn’t…” She inhales deeply and lets it out in a heavy sigh. “We’re on a tight time schedule, Mr. Grady.”

“Owen.” He corrects her automatically as he pulls his cream-colored henley shirt on and zips his duffel bag back up, turning to face her once more. “That’s fine.” He replies and holds his hand out to her. “First, give me that key card you used to get in here.”

She glares at him and procures a small, white keycard from her pocket and places it in his hand. His fingers curl around it in his palm and he smiles at her, causing her nostrils to flare as he moves around his bed to place it in the nightstand, making a show of closing the drawer.

“Please Mr. Grady. I was going to return it to the front desk when we left. Don’t insult me.” She rolls her eyes and scoffs, making it very clear that any idea of ‘ _them_ ’ and ‘ _hooking up_ ’ positively disgusted her.

 _Well good_ , Owen thinks in an internal huff.

“Word of advice, Miss Dearing?” He words it to sound like a rhetorical question because he’s going to give it to her anyway, whether she wants to hear it or not. “Don’t ever sneak up on me again. It’s disrespectful, I don’t appreciate it, and you could cause me to go into an PTSD episode.” It wasn’t meant to be a threat; just a warning, but he feels incredibly disrespected by her for just letting herself into his hotel room regardless of whether she knocked or not, her subtle insult of him didn’t help to soften the wound either. To be fair, he’d been as cruel as her but damnit if he didn’t feel justified in it.

“Now, I believe we’re on a tight time schedule?” He encourages her to lead the way with an errant gesture of his hand to the hotel room door. To Owen’s surprise Claire doesn’t lead him back out the front where all the guests flock like herds of sheep. Instead, she takes him out the back entrance for hotel staff.

“I’ll have your keycards set to unlock these doors so you can avoid Main Street.” She tells him distractedly over her shoulder as she types on her tablet, clutched once more in her grasp.

He’s begrudgingly grateful, and he wonders whether she’d been more observant to his panic attack on the Main Street than he’d originally assumed.

Which caused Owen to immediately reassess and analyze the scene in his hotel room. He thought Claire was being impatient. Barging into his room because they were on a  _tight time schedule_  as she didn’t hesitate to remind him the first chance she got …but what if he’d misinterpreted the whole thing?

What if, assuming she was more observant than he’d given her credit for, she’d been checking up on him. Not because of the schedule but because she’d seen his episode he thought he’d been slick in hiding?

“I’m sorry I startled you, Mr. Grady.”

“Owen.” Her cheeks flush a lovely shade of red as she catches his gaze from the other side of the black and blue Jeep they were going to be taking. Owen watches as she fusses with her hair as he climbs in the passenger side. It doesn’t completely hide her face but he suspects it helps to keep him out of her peripheral vision.

Owen grabs the roll cage bar over his head as she peels out down the dirt road. The Jeep’s suspension is built for the uneven terrain but speed isn’t graceful on the dips and bumps and it jars his teeth together.

* * *

 

“This is the raptor paddock and cage.” She says as she puts the Jeep in park in front of the giant metal construct. Construction workers are hard at work on it, welding and fusing it together in places.

“Is it safe?” He points to the catwalk as he hops out of the Jeep.

“Yes.” Claire replies and he wastes no time jogging up the stairs, taking them three at a time. He steps on the metal catwalk, fingers running over the railing as he looks below him at the ‘cage’. It’s an open  space and in the far corner is the entrance into their massive paddock. It stretches far enough to allow the raptors to roam and run without feeling claustrophobic. Plenty of forest, a massive watering hole, and plains.

He looks over his shoulder as he hears the sound of Claire’s heels on the catwalk.

“I wouldn’t…—” He started, ready to grab her if it looked like she was in danger of losing her balance…or breaking an ankle. Once again, Claire Dearing navigated the metal grate of the catwalk in a manner that would, Owen doesn’t doubt, give a runway model a serious run for her money. She gives a soft clear of her throat and smiles at him, a bit smug a bit charming as he lean his hip casually against the short catwalk railing.

“We’re going to have four ACU guards stationed at each corner of the cage,” She points to the spots on the wrap around catwalk. “Armed with non-lethals, of course, as per our safety regulations.”

“You put twelve amps in those raptors, it’ll destroy their trust in me in an instant.” Owen tells her.

“So …what? You’d rather risk being killed?” Claire questions him.

“I’d rather ACU not interfere with my work.” He tells her, taking a step closer to her.

“It’s company protocol. There has to be at least four ACU guards per carnivore paddock while the trainers and handlers are working with them.” Claire tells him simply, her tone implying that he’s not going to negotiate it with her.

“Fine,” Owen agrees watching as Claire’s shoulders sag a little with relief. “But while they’re stationed in my paddock, with my raptors, they’ll listen to  _me_. If I tell them to hold fire, they better damn well hold their fire.”

Claire blinks up at him, clearly deliberating the terms he gives her. “I can manage that.” She eventually murmurs in compromise.

“Good.” Owen says before he turns away from her and walks the rest of the catwalk, eventually following her down the stairs and back to the Jeep.

* * *

 

“Owen Grady, this is Dr. Henry Wu.” Claire introduces them as the elevator doors open to the incubation lab. It’s sterile and white and reminds Owen of a military medical facility. Out of all the scientists there, Dr. Wu is the only one wearing a bespoke black suit.

Owen shakes the doctor’s hand.

“Dr. Wu, this is Owen Grady. He’ll be spearheading Project IBRIS.” Claire says as he leads the way down the corridor of glass walls and doors. As they move past, Owen glimpses around him with muted fascination. He’d never been one for science, but there’s something methodical about watching them work: extracting DNA from amber samples. Playing with double helix’s suspended on touch screens in their areas, mixing genomes.

“What’s the survival rate of the hatchlings?” Owen asks as Dr. Wu leads them down a secondary hallway and presses his hand against the reader to unlock the door with a soft hiss. Claire takes a step to the side to allow Owen to pass before her, as he comes to stand before the two large nests, each nest holding six velociraptor eggs.

“The typical rate is two per nest, but it’s a bit of a lottery, Mr. Grady. Sometimes it’s two, sometimes it’s one …sometimes it’s none at all and the process starts all over.” Owen feels his brows furrow at the utter lack of emotion in Dr. Wu’s voice as he says it. Owen isn’t sure if the man is just apathetic or if, after years of dealing with failed incubations he’s just grown …desensitized.

Owen frowns but leans closer to examine the next that Dr. Wu hovers around, hand pressing against a draw diagram with neat scribbling written on it. He looks down at in surprise.

“What’s this?”

“Ah, each raptor hatching has mixed DNA with a different reptile to give them all a unique appearance. I thought it would be easier for you to tell them apart that way.” Dr. Wu makes it sound like it’s an generously altruistic act but Owen can’t help but feel insulted.

“How incredibly  _kind_ of you.” Owen deadpans sarcastically, letting out a low grunt of pain as he feels Claire step on his toes in a clear warning.

“Sorry, Mr. Grady.” She murmurs in an apology that sounds sincere but he knows damn well isn’t. She puts on a good show for Dr. Wu.

If Dr. Wu noticed the silent battle of stares happening between Claire and Owen he pays no attention to it, or rather draws no attention to it. Instead, he lets the band of his black rubber gloves snap against his wrists as he puts them on and points to four eggs in the oldest nest.

“As you can see these eggs have stress fractures along the egg shell. I estimate they’ll hatch within the next couple of days or so, but I’ve taken the liberty of syncing this tablet,” Dr. Wu gestures to it and Claire grabs it off the table for him and hands it out to Owen. “to these monitors. I want you here from sun rise to sun fall watching them, but the tablet’s alarm is set to go off if they begin to show increased signs of activity. Your employee ID card will get you into the lab’s elevator and into this room exclusively.”

“Alright.” Owen agrees. He knows the importance of being here when they hatch, of imprinting upon them the moment they’re born. It’ll jumpstart and further help to cement the bond he’ll work to create with them.

“Well,” Owen pulls up an office chair and lowers himself down into it. “Best get started.” He says dismissively.

Dr. Wu takes his exit then, not needing to be told twice until it’s just Claire and Owen. She procures a sleek, white phone from her pocket and holds it out to him. Gingerly, Owen takes it. Like everything in this lab it looks highly breakable.

“Company work phone. It’s pre-programmed with everyone’s numbers. ACU, Dr. Wu, the park rangers are all on your speed dial.” Owen thanks her, watching her as she hesitates for a moment before she glimpses back over her shoulder and exits the lab room, heading back the way they’d came. Owen rubs his eyes and stretches in the chair before he turns his gaze to the two nests, his eyes drawn to an egg in the second nest. It’s a bit bigger than the others: not noticeable upon first glance and it’s shell is almost a matte pearlescent color with tiny, iridescent blue vein-like marks, easily missed if one wasn’t studying the egg as intensely as Owen finds himself. He stretches out a finger to touch the egg, the rough texture of the shell warm beneath his fingertips. He follows an iridescent blue vein’s path along the egg with a gentle trace of his fingertip and recoils his hand and drawing in a sharp breath when he feels the egg thrum like a heartbeat. Owen’s brows furrow before he decides he better not touch them again, lest Dr. Wu catches him.

He looks like the kind of man who’d love nothing wrong to read him the riot act and given that Owen’s fairly sure Claire’s already given herself that power he doesn’t want the two of them to gang up on him. He settles back in the chair, watching the monitors and comparing them, making sense of the scientific mumbo-jumbo enough to have a grasp on what he’s looking at and what he’s looking for.


	7. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer** : This chapter has some death in it. Please read at your own discretion.

Owen’s second day in the lab the first egg of the oldest nest hatches.

The baby velociraptor, so unbelievably tiny and fragile as Owen helps it gently and carefully out of it’s egg, makes a weak noise and presses it’s muzzle against Owen’s wrist as he smooths his thumb gently over it’s tiny jaw.

“Hey.” He coos to the hatchling, the color of dark sand. He’s worked with animals long enough, been present for enough births in his life to know when one’s not going to survive. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when the baby raptor dies, cradled in his hands. Maybe, he thought,  _he hoped_ , they just …wouldn’t hatch. The eggs would be discarded to …where ever as duds. It would’ve been easier.

It would’ve been easier than the well of emotions that lurch in his throat and the tears that burn his eyes, the salty tasty of his own tears lingering on his lips as they well and spill over. He chokes on the sob he tries to fight.

He tries so damn hard to fight it.

Not because he thought it was silly to cry over a dead baby velociraptor: they were living animals …and any life was precious; but because he doesn’t want Dr. Wu to look down on him for it. Apathetic as the mad scientist was.

“Ok.” He draws in an uneven breath, and presses the heel of his left hand to his eyes in an attempt to dry them …or keep the rest of the tears at bay he’s not overly sure. “Let’s go find a nice spot to bury you, yeah?” He glimpses at the monitors to double check there hasn’t been a spike of activity in the other eggs before he wraps the tiny body in a towel and steps out of the incubation room.

“Mr. Grady …where are you going?” Dr. Wu asks as he and Claire move to block his path. For a long moment, Owen stares at Claire whose eyes flicker between him, to the small covered body he cradles, still gingerly, and back up to him.

“I’m going to bury her.”

“No need. Her body’ll be disposed of like all the others.” Owen tried real hard not to look at the doctor …because he feels something akin to hatred burning in his veins, tries to keep everything at bay as he clenches his jaw.

“They’re my raptors and I’m going to bury her. Now get out of my way.”

“Go back to the incubation room, Mr. Grady.” Dr. Wu argues.

“Get out of my way.” Owen says slowly, enunciating each word with a very real threat then he’d love nothing more to make good on. Claire quickly wedges herself between them, quick to attempt to diffuse the situation.

“Dr. Wu, I’ll watch the eggs until Mr. Grady returns.” She is quick to compromise. She shifts, pressing her dainty shoulder against his chest and he gets a nose full of her vanilla scented lotion mixed with a sweet scent of some fruity shampoo she used. It’s a pleasant mix and would have Owen been in a playful mood he might’ve teased her about it. But he was grieving and he could feel a flashback pounding at the base of his skull like the steady beat of a war drum.

Dr. Wu makes a low, annoyed noise and brushes past them without another word.

“Thanks.” Owen says gruffly as Claire turns to face him, though he notices she refuses to look at him.

“Better get going.” She dismisses him coolly, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I’ll call you if there’s any increase of activity.”

* * *

Three of the hatchlings survive from the first nest, though it is only after day four, when they all continue to show signs of vigorous life does Owen dare to name them. Echo, Delta and Charlie.

Five of the raptors from the second nest don’t survive and their graves join the first three from the oldest nest. It doesn’t get easier with any of them, but Owen has three healthy baby raptors to focus on. He keeps them in the incubation lab with him, in a wicker basket lined with soft blankets and two stuffed animals that they’re curled up into. Echo’s tail beats Charlie in the face in her sleep and Charlie lets out a small mewl, curling closer to Owen’s index finger as he runs it methodically over the crown of her skull. He does this regularly for each of them, distracted though it is. Delta suckles idly on his thumb, and he takes a stolen moment to marvel at how they’re like any other baby. Apex predators or not: they want comfort, they want warmth, they want food: which is a special mix of meat packed with nutrients that the scientists say they need. For the moment, they eat the mess out of cat food bowls and he records everything in his vlog.

Owen focuses on the last velociraptor egg: the one that drew his attention from the first day.

The last egg.

There’s been increased activity which makes Owen believe she’ll hatch soon. It was just a waiting game at this point.

He looks down at the basket of baby raptors as Echo’s elongated claw pierces the skin of his palm in her sleep as she kicks at him. He lets out a small hiss of pain but she chatters cutely and snuggles tighter against the stuffed lion and Owen lets out an affectionate snort. She’s the most vocal of the group thus far.

There’s a cracking noise from the egg and Owen’s attention snaps to it as is trembles. Gently, he detaches his hand from Delta, Echo and Charlie, rubbing his suddenly sweaty palms on his jeans as he shifts forward in the uncomfortably hard chair Dr. Wu’d given him.

A claw pokes out of the shell and Owen draws in a breath and unceremoniously holds it. He knows mortality rate is high …especially so for the raptor’s nest and he hopes with a ferocity that surprises him, that she’ll survive. That he can add her to his ragtag crew of baby misfits.

He wants to help her break free of the shell but hesitates. He doesn’t want to accidentally harm her and idly draws his thumb over the small hole Echo’d put in his palm. She broke the skin but hadn’t cut deep enough for draw blood.

A small piece of shell breaks and an amber eye stares at him, a noise of what Owen believes to be defiance coming from within the breaking egg. She pokes her head at a top piece of the shell and gingerly Owen peels it away, gently drawing his finger over her slime covered head. She makes a purr noise that causes him to let out a small, half laugh.

God, they’re actually  _cute_ ; and that was honestly something he never thought he’d say about a baby dinosaur. Especially one that was going to grow up with the capabilities of eating him.

It takes a couple of minutes, determination on her part and a need to be gentle on his but she’s finally free of her egg and he cleans her up with a gentle touch, riding her of the goop that covers her. She’s vocal and rubs the crown of her head against him and when she’s clean he studies her. Small, but strong, massive and powerful legs too big for her body. As it was with the others he has to resist the urge to laugh. Eventually, Owen knows, they’ll grow into those powerful legs. She’s a light sand color, with a striking iridescent blue stripe on either side of her.

“Hey Blue.” He greets her, smiling down at her as she chirps at him. With her, he doesn’t have the hesitance that plagued him with the others. “Guess I’m officially a raptor dad now.” He chuckles softly at the self-given title.  He looks at her and he  _knows_  she’ll live. 

The lone survivor.


End file.
